A knock sounded on the door. Lucille answered it before returning and smoothing her apron. “The queen requests an audience with you.”
Nin dropped the spoon into the bowl. Heart hammering, she peered up at a frowning Lucille. “Why do you think she would summon me?”
“I’m not sure,” Lucille said, “but we’ll need to get you ready.”
Nin swallowed the hard knot in her throat.
No amount of powder could fully hide the bruise along Nin’s temple, though only a careful eye would notice the purplish shadow beneath her skin. She followed Lucille through the polished halls, her pulse pounded with every step.
The queen was alone in her private chamber, seated by the window with a cup of steaming tea. There were no attendants, no ladies-in-waiting, and no guards in the room.
Nin faltered at the threshold.
“Come in,” the queen announced gently. “I wish to speak with you alone.”
Nin’s palms grew damp as she crossed the floor. She fought the urge to wring her hands when the queen gestured to the seat beside her.
Silence stretched thin, twisting her nerves into knots. She had never been summoned like this before.
Nin held the dainty teacup between her hands as a way of comfort.
At last, the queen spoke.
“I know your secret,” she said calmly, setting her teacup down with a delicate clink.
Nin’s pulse roared in her ears. Sweat collected in her palm, slicking against the ever-warm, enchanted teacup.
“Secrets?” she echoed weakly. “What—what do you mean, Your Majesty?”
“You and I both know,” the queen said softly, “that I am not your mother. And you are not my daughter.”
All the blood drained from Nin’s face. Her throat tightened as she met the queen’s cool, knowing expression. She opened her mouth, but no excuse came. Instead, she clenched her hands in her lap, bracing for the repercussions.
She had failed.
“I know my daughter better than Cedric believes I do,” the queen continued, lifting her cup again to her lips. “ThoughI have not always been the most present mother due to my duties, I do not fault him for this deception, or for keeping it from me.”
Disbelief stirred beneath Nin’s skin.
“You’re… not angry?” she asked quietly.
The queen shook her head. “I trust Cedric with my daughter’s life. And I know she is somewhere safe.”
Nin couldn’t help the relieved sigh that escaped her lips. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said. “She is.”
“Good.” The queen’s lips curved faintly. “Would you like to know how I discovered the truth?”
Nin nodded, her cheeks warming.
“Your lack of manners was one clue,” the queen said with a small chuckle. “Many excused it, but a mother notices such things. The way you seemed to linger over sweets when I wasn’t watching, and the crook in your tooth—the one my daughter does not have. You are remarkably alike, but not identical.”
The queen paused, her eyes softening. “I’m sure you understand. Mothers have that sense, as I’m sure yours does.”
Nin’s fingers tightened over her teacup. “Perhaps… but my mother is no longer with us.” She paused, her focus shifting to the floor. “My father as well. It’s been some time.”
The queen placed her cup on her saucer. “My condolences,” she said gently. “You’ve endured much then—that is a loss that is not easily mended by time.”
Nin swallowed, surprised by Her Majesty’s compassion.
